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... shift. The streetlights were flickering, half of them dead. This neighborhood never got maintenance. Never got attention. The city pretended it didn’t exist.
Most nights, I walked fast. Kept my head down. Got inside as quickly as possible.
But tonight, I heard something.
Voices. Young. High-pitched.
And one of them was crying.
I stopped.
Down the alley to my right, I could see them. Three girls—teenagers, maybe fifteen or sixteen—surrounding a four ...
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